Two Guys In A Bar
by loobeyloo
Summary: Join Santini and Hawke for an after work drink.


_**Airwolf - Two Guys In A Bar …..**_

_**By Lorraine Beasley - © - June 2011**_

Dominic Santini took a long, welcoming gulp of the cold beer the barkeep had just set down before him and swivelling slightly around on his stool, cast his eyes around the dimly illuminated bar to see if there was anyone around he knew, aside from his young companion, Stringfellow Hawke.

The pair had stopped by The Pub for a quiet drink after work, but it seemed that they had gotten there before anyone else for the bar was practically deserted, Happy Hour still quite some time off.

Aside from Hawke, Santini and the barkeep, a sour faced old man with squinty piggy eyes and meaty hands with a tea towel draped over one shoulder, the only other occupants of the bar were two men clad in business suits in a booth toward the back, silently staring morosely into their half filled glasses of beer.

Emitting a long sigh, Santini returned his attention to Hawke, who was sipping on a long cold glass of fresh orange juice.

Just sitting there minding his own business.

Quiet and thoughtful.

"Hey, String, I got a joke for ya," Santini grinned, drawing his young friends piercing blue eyes.

"Oh, yeah?" Hawke queried, raising one eyebrow curiously, wondering silently to himself if he really wanted to encourage the old man. He had a lame line in jokes, and his delivery wasn't anything to write home about.

Dominic Santini would never be able to make a career as a stand up comedian.

Neither would he for that matter, the younger man silently conceded.

"Ok, I'll bite."

"Gee, don't do me no favours," Santini grouched.

"Dom, just get on with it."

"Why do you always have to spoil everything?"

"Dom, are you gonna tell me this joke, or not?"

"Ok," Santini grumbled, looking very put out with his young friend.

"So?" Hawke encouraged.

"What do you call a drunken Russian?"

Hawke regarded his friend with a blank, expressionless mask on his face, and this seemed to disappoint Santini.

"That's it?" Hawke drawled after a momentary pause.

"Yeah, that's it!" Santini snarled. "What do ya want, a drum roll? What's wrong with it?" he demanded.

"Actually, Dom, coming from you, nothing," Hawke smirked with a hint of surprise in his voice.

"Oh, I get it. You was expectin' old Dom to give something away, like the punch line."

"Dom, the joke?"

"Oh, yeah. So?"

"So what?"

"So what do you call a drunken Russian?"

"I don't know," Hawke sighed expressively. "What do you call a drunken Russian," he played along, wondering where Santini was going with this.

"Ivan Tipsova!"

Santini threw back his head and roared loudly at his own joke, and therefore did not see the rather pained expression on Hawke's face, nor the startled, indignant looks of the other occupants of the bar.

It took several minutes for Santini to pull himself together, but as he slowly gathered his wits, he began to realize that Hawke wasn't laughing.

Not only wasn't he laughing, he wasn't even smiling.

Now, there was nothing unusual in that, Hawke wasn't renowned for grinning like a fool all day long, but surely even he could see the funny side.

"Don't you get it? Ivan Tipsova."

"Yeah, Dom," Hawke drawled laconically. "I get it. Did you come up with that all by yourself?"

"Yeah. Sure. So, it's not funny?"

"I guess," Hawke conceded with a slight lift of his shoulders, not wanting to upset his old friend.

"No, oh no, no you don't sonny …."

"Dom, it's ok," Hawke placated.

"No it ain't!" Santini roared, causing the few other occupants of The Pub to look over in their direction once more. "I know that look, Mr Smartypants! It tells me you know something I don't know! So go ahead and spit it out."

"It's nothing, Dom."

"Say it! You've already ruined it for me, so go on, tell me what so wrong with it!"

"Well, actually Dom," Hawke faltered, not liking the dark expression on Santini's face.

"You gotta spoil everything, don't ya! Why couldn't you just be polite and laugh, even it the joke does stink?"

Hawke knew that Dominic was right.

It would have been so easy to just go along with him and laugh.

Why couldn't he do that, for his friend? Why did he always have to spoil things, even when he was trying so hard not to.

"So, come on, out with it."

"I'm sorry, Dom."

"I don't want your sorry, String. I wanna know what's so wrong with the joke, so I don't make a fool of myself again in the future."

"Well, Dom, strictly speaking, you can't call a Russian Ivan Tipsova," Hawke explained with a pained expression on his face.

"Huh?"

"No. Ivan is a man's name, but Tipsova would be a woman's name," Hawke explained. "The a on the end indicates the name belongs to a female."

"Are you serious! It's a joke for crying out loud! A play on words, you're not supposed to take it literally!"

"Ok Dom, calm down. I'm sorry. I can't help it. You know I had a sense of humorectomy years ago. Forget I said anything. It was a terrific joke. Ivan Tipsova. Yeah, great ….I'll have to remember that one …."

"String …."

"Yeah, Dom?"

"Do me a favour, huh? Shut up before you end up wearing that orange juice …."

"And find myself in a sticky situation?" Hawke deadpanned, stopping Santini in mid sentence.

The older man clamped his mouth shut, regarded his young friend with awe and wonder, and then suddenly burst into another fit of giggles, accompanied by Stringfellow Hawke.

"Ya got me kid," Santini spluttered, fighting back another fit of giggles. "But maybe you shouldn't give up your day job just yet a while …"

"Wouldn't dream of it, Dom. One joker in the family is more than enough!"


End file.
